Kalamität
by brittasaurus
Summary: Life in District Three isn't bad, really. Erica and her brother, Vash, may not live extravagantly, but they're happy and that's what matters... until Erica's name is called on Reaping Day. Hunger Games AU. Rated M for blood, violence, and language.


**Chapter One: The Reaping**

* * *

No matter how hard I tried, last night I wasn't able to get to sleep.

I am only fifteen years old, so my name is only in the Reaping Ball four times. That's not what worries me. It's that my brother - eighteen years old and long since having decided that he was going to look out for me - has his name in there twenty-eight times. Seven for his age, and the other twenty-one for the _tesserae_. We're well-off enough, thanks to Vash's skill with making guns for the Capitol and his thriftiness, so we don't really need the extra grain and oil, but Vash knows a good business opportunity when he sees it. What we didn't use, he sold to families who either didn't have children who were eligible for _tesserae _or were too fearful to enter their names extra times.

I know the odds are still low, because there are so many names in those balls, but for Vash, they're not as low as they could be. This is his last year, and if he can make it through this Reaping, he'll be safe. Next year he'll be nineteen, too old to participate in the Hunger Games.

I'll still have three more Reapings to go after this one, but if I know that at least Vash is safe, I'll be able to sleep a little easier. It's just that later this morning, someone's name is going to be called, and Vash's name is there twenty-one more times than it needs to be.

"Erica?"

I turn. My brother is awake, sitting up and rubbing sleep out of his eyes. I nod to him; his expression becomes concerned. With others, he is very harsh - with me, he's the opposite. Vash has looked out for me for ten years now, ever since he convinced his family to take me in when my family's business went under and my parents couldn't support me anymore.

"Did you sleep at all last night?" He asks, and I shake my head. This makes him frown.

"I couldn't. You didn't sleep either... I heard you."

He sighs, and gestures for me to come over to him. I do, taking a seat on the edge of his mattress, and I fold my hands in my lap. "It's going to be alright, you know. There are hundreds of names in the Reaping Balls. Thousands, even."

I nod, mentally repeating the words in my head. _Thousands of names. Twenty-eight slips is nothing._

"You should have slept."

"You should have, too."

He doesn't respond to that, just puts a hand on my shoulder. I look down at my hands. After a few moments, he gets to his feet, and I rise with him.

"Be sure you eat a good breakfast today," He says, just like always. For as long as I can remember, Vash has tried to treat Reaping Day just like any other day. I follow him to the kitchen, where we've got bread, apples, and cheese set aside for our breakfast already, with two chocolate-dipped strawberries each on the side. Vash's mother works in a chocolate shop, and she usually saves the strawberries for the people living in the Victor's Village, but she's not completely like her son. She finds it hard to look at us before the Reaping, but she always makes sure to leave behind a special treat.

I take one of my strawberries, bring it to my lips and then bite into it. The chocolate is sweet, but the fruit is a little tart. Still, it's good, and it's a reminder that she cares. Vash takes our plates over to the table and I sit down across from him, bringing my other hand up to catch any juice that might dribble down my chin.

Vash takes his first few bites in silence, starting with his bread. I finish the strawberry and reach for some cheese.

"Do you think they'll make us wait long today?" I ask.

He shrugs, wiping a few crumbs from around his lips. "They might. It depends on how much tension they want to build up for the people in the Capitol." I can almost hear the scorn in his voice. Vash doesn't think much of the people from the Capitol - part of it is because they're the only people in Panem that don't lose their children to the Hunger Games, and part of it is because of how ... flamboyant, for lack of better words, that their representative is. The Representative to District Three is the very definition of excess.

Excess is, of course, one thing that Vash really dislikes. If you listen to his parents, he's been frugal from the very moment that he came into this world, and from what I've seen of him these past ten years, it's absolutely true.

"I hope they don't," I say after a moment or two, trying to decide whether I want to eat the bread, the apple, or my last strawberry next. "I don't think my feet have ever been as sore as they were last year."

Last year, they had us gathered at eight'o'clock on the dot, but the representative didn't show up until noon. I'm sure that many people would have left if it weren't for the fact that they'd be put to death if the Reaping began and they weren't there.

The two of us finish our breakfast in silence. Finally, when Vash has cleared the last crumb from his plate, he takes mine and brings them to the sink. I rise to help him, but he shakes his head, and instead I return to my room to get dressed. Reaping Day means we have to look presentable - for me, it means my best pink dress with a ribbon tied at the collar. For Vash, it means a freshly-pressed white button-up and a pair of black slacks. Both of us wear shoes that were freshly polished the night before.

Vash nods at me approvingly as I emerge, and once the dishes are done he heads back to get dressed himself.

While he's gone, I look around the kitchen. If it weren't for the fact that I knew what day it was, and if it weren't for the fact that there had been strawberries and chocolate at breakfast, there would be nothing to suggest that this day was different. Our cabinets are well-organized, our counters clean of any stains - Vash, like his father, prefers a clean house. I do my best to be tidy as well. There's a note on the counter and I'm pretty sure it's from Vash's father. He usually leaves notes behind when he leaves the house; Reaping Day is no exception.

_We'll see you after the Reaping, _the note says. _Your mother will pick up a tray of sweets from the shop._

I try to suppress a smile. Reaping Day is always sad for the families whose children become Tributes, but for those whose families go another year without losing anyone, after the ceremony is a time for extra treats and quiet celebration. And the sweets from the shop Mother works at are delicious.

If it weren't for the ever-constant threat of Vash being taken, and the sadness of the families of the Tributes, I might even look forward to Reaping Day.

I hear Vash's footsteps coming from down the hall and turn to him once he steps into the kitchen. He's well-dressed as he always is for Reaping Day, only this time he's got a blue ribbon in his hand.

"Erica, come here." I cross the room to him and he reaches up to tie the ribbon into my hair, stepping back to look at his handiwork. He nods, looking proud, and I reach up to touch the ribbon.

"This is...?"

"A present," He replies. "It looks good on you."

This time I don't suppress my smile. "Thank you, Vash." He smiles back, and for a moment we're just a normal brother and sister, having just enjoyed a normal breakfast on a normal day. Then a horn sounds from the center square, and the illusion is shattered.

Vash's expression is serious, and I'm sure mine is too. We both know that horn means it's time to go.

We don't delay. After making sure the house is properly locked up, we proceed to the center square together, my arm in Vash's. We see many people we know on the way, and greet them - they greet us in return, but everyone, including us, is distracted. The same questions are running through everyone's minds.

_Who will be going off to the Capitol this year? Who won't be coming back?_

It's not too long before we reach the square; our house isn't very far away, after all. I pull my arm away from Vash's reluctantly, and he leans down a little to whisper to me before he goes off to stand with the other eighteen-year-old boys.

"Be strong, Erica. I'll see you after the Reaping."

I nod, and there's nothing else to say. I turn and join the group of fifteen-year-old girls on the other side of the square.

The other girls are fidgeting and talking among themselves, looking for a distraction - any distraction. I join them. Not only do I need something to think about other than the fact that Vash's name is in there too many times, for all I know this could be the last time I ever see one of these girls in person. I may not be especially close to any of them, but it would be a shame to not at least exchange a few supportive words with whoever might become one of District Three's Tributes.

They do keep us waiting again this year, but not as long as last year. The sun is only really beginning to beat down unpleasantly on our heads when the representative arrives and takes the stage, launching into his usual spiel about the Dark Days, the rebellion, and the glorious history of the Hunger Games that the Capitol puts on every year as a reminder. A hush falls over the crowd of people as he finally - _finally _- procures the Reaping Balls.

But he's talking again, another spiel about more traditions that have formed since the Dark Days. The Quarter Quells and how they've altered the selection process. But this is the Eighty-Third Annual Hunger Games. It is not a Quarter Quell, so it's plain to see that he's simply taking up time.

"This year, as always," he says, smoothing down his immaculately-embroidered cravat, "We will be selecting your Tributes by a random draw. And as last year we began with the boys, this year we shall begin with the girls!"

He looks out at us. It almost seems as though he expects applause, but there's nothing to applaud. Not genuinely. Nobody _wants_ to celebrate the loss of a child.

And that's all these Games are. Loss.

He clears his throat and moves on, reaching into the ball, making a big show of picking a slip of paper and bringing it to the top of the bowl, only to drop it and go digging again. After four tries he finally pulls a slip out of the ball, opening the slip with a dramatic flourish and leaning into the microphone to announce the name.

"And this year's female Tribute is... _Erica Vogel_!"

The girl on my right gasps. The girl on my left claps a hand over her mouth. Behind me, there's a wave of murmuring, and I feel a nudge at my back. "That's _you_," someone hisses, and I move to step out of the group.

Me? District Three's Tribute?

But my name was only in the ball four times... four times out of thousands.

I move up to the stage in a daze, barely able to still the trembling in my hands. I have to be strong. The Capitol is watching, the crowd is watching, but more importantly Vash and his parents are watching. I can't think of anything to do but cry, but that's not something I'm willing to do in front of them.

I _have_ to be strong._  
_

I come to a stop next to the representative whose name I never cared enough to learn, and he smiles kindly at me - or at least as kindly as a man from the Capitol can manage. "How old are you, dear?"

He gestures for me to lean in to speak into the microphone. "Fifteen."

"Do you have a family here today?"

"Yes." My mouth feels dry all of a sudden. I swallow hard and force myself to continue. "An older brother... a mother and father."

"I'm sure they're all very proud of you." He turns back out to the crowd. "And now... we'll choose the male Tribute!" He moves away from me to fetch the Reaping Ball for the males, but I'm barely aware of what he's doing. I really couldn't care less.

I search the crowd for Vash, catch his eye when I finally find him.

His expression is almost enough to break my heart. He's _enraged_ - I know if I were a boy, he'd volunteer for me in a heartbeat. But he can't, and certainly none of the girls are planning to. I bite my lip. Ten years of looking out for me, and now they've all been wasted...

Tributes get a few minutes with their families after they've been chosen, I know that much. What can I say to him?

_I'm sorry. I'll miss you._

_I love you. Stay strong._

_Thank you for everything you've done for me._

None of it sounds like enough, not when I know the chances that I'll never see him again are incredibly high. I can't do anything to change that except for train hard when I get to the Capitol. I wonder who my Mentor is going to be. We have three females living in the Victor's Village, and all of them are formidable - but I simply don't know which one will be mentoring me this year. I hope they can teach me enough to make sure I come home safely.

"This year's male tribute is..."

I have to come home safely. Because then I'll be a Victor and I won't be in the Reaping Pool anymore, and Vash will be too old to be Reaped. It has to happen.

"..._Vash Zwingli_!"

And in that instant, my heart stops.


End file.
